What She Tells Him
by Camaraderiee
Summary: Each chapter is a different thing Dorothy has told Lucas. He may love her, but he doesn't always agree with her. Ch1: Before Lucas knew anything else in this world, he knew love. Ch2: Dorothy says she isn't very complicated. Lucas tells her every reason she is wrong. Ch3: "I always wished I had blue eyes" Lucas doesn't. Ch4: Dorothy's dad used to shove broken bottles in her hands
1. Slowly in Love

_**Dorothy once told Lucas that most people don't notice falling in love. They just wake up one morning and looks over and thinks "Oh, hey. I love this person." That people either fall in love suddenly or not at all.  
Lucas doesn't believe any of it. He knows he was fully aware of every step of falling in love. Before Lucas knew anything else in this world, he knew love.**_

* * *

Dorothy once told Lucas that most people don't notice falling in love. She told him this with a faraway look on her face, eyebrows crunched. She told him this in the same way someone tells their child happy endings aren't real, with a sad determination, like they themselves still hold the believe somewhere deep inside. She told him that, usually, a person doesn't have a choice. They just wake up one morning and look over and think, "Oh, hey. I love this person." That people either fall in love suddenly or not at all.

Lucas doesn't believe any of it. He knows he was fully aware of every step of falling in love. He was aware of it from the first time he opened his eyes and saw love's beautiful face looking down on him. He was aware of the skip in his heartbeat. He was aware of the pain of his arms and legs vanishing, and warmth and reassurance filling the space left behind. He was aware as a part in his brain, a brain he knew very little of personally, was segmented so he could keep a tally on moments like this. Before Lucas knew anything else in this world, he knew love.

It starts small, as most everything does. For Lucas, it starts with bandages and touches. It starts when the dirtied angel above him hurriedly wraps his injured side in white cloth. Lucas watches her work her magic, and when she's done, he does feel remarkably better. He watches as this furious woman, anger and frustration present in every jerky movement she makes, gently lifts him into an upright position and tend his wounds with the mildest of touches.

When she speaks to him, none of the festering frustration he sees swimming in her eyes shows in her voice. She speaks to him like he's someone, even when neither of them know if he really is. When he reluctantly tells her he remembers nothing, is nothing, she continues to treat him as if he hadn't spoken in the first place. When she asks him questions about this world so strange to her, only slightly less strange to him, and he cannot answer, she does not admonish him the way he does to himself.

Lucas loves how Dorothy sees the good in him. Her belief in him never falters. She keeps his head afloat when he is sure he is drowning.

Not even when he loses control and lashes out at the woman who tried to poison him and hurt Dorothy, does Dorothy look at him any different. He strikes the woman down, terrified that if he doesn't, the woman may rise up and harm his Dorothy. And yet still, when the deed is done, and he looks up at Dorothy, he sees the flicker of hesitation in her eyes, but it is not directed at him. She contemplates only the body lying below them. She is never in fear Lucas will turn on her.

Once, while they are both taking a short break from traveling the accursed yellow road, he asks Dorothy why she never questions his actions. She throws him a withering look and asks him what kind of question that even is. She tells Lucas he is her reminder of good in the world. She says more, launches into a speech of sorts, and Lucas hangs onto every word, but the thing Lucas clings to most is that Dorothy thinks he is a good man. She trusts him.

Lucas doesn't believe people fall in love suddenly, because he knows he didn't. He knew exactly when and why each part of his shattered mind affirmed themselves to Dorothy. Between her unwavering faith, tender care, and senseless concern for his well-being, he had no choice but to fall for her. Before Lucas knew anything else in this world, he knew love.


	2. Enigma of Contradictions

_**Sometimes, when Lucas asks her question after question about the things she loves, Dorothy will laugh and tell him that she really isn't very complicated. She's soft when she says it, laughing a little self-depreciating and smiling sweetly at him.  
When she does this, Lucas wants to take her face in his hands and tell her everything he sees in her. He wants to tell he every single reason why she is dead wrong.**_

* * *

Sometimes, when Lucas asks her question after question about the things she loves, Dorothy will laugh and tell him that she really isn't very complicated. She's soft when she says it, laughing a little self-depreciating and smiling sweetly at him.

When she does this, Lucas wants to take her face in his hands and tell her everything he sees in her. He wants to tell her every single reason why she is dead wrong.

Lucas wants to tell Dorothy that she is an enigma of contradictions. He wants to tell her how he learns all he can about her and her past and her way of thinking, and yet is _still_ surprised by her choices. He can expect that she will always protect the ones she loves, yet her idea of protection differs from moment to moment and is never what he supposes.

He wants to find a way to put into words the fire he sees burning behind her eyes. The flames that writhe and spark behind their glossy prison. How he is astounded when he watches her viciously attack their foes, then flip a switch and tenderly patch him up after the battle. Her careful ministrations always in complete contract with the tense way she holds herself.

If only he could manage to tell her that her bravery is unparalleled to anything he's ever seen. He sees the fear she feels in the twitch of her lip and tremble of her hands. He knows she worries much more than her calm exterior lets on. The fact she holds hesitation, yet still perseveres despite this, is more impressive than if she felt no fear at all. Her strength, whether illusory or real, gives him strength.

He wishes for the words to describe her courage. How, even when they are both terrified, or hopelessly out of their depth, or betrayed time and time again, she remains determined. He finds it impossible to imagine how she remains so assured even in their darkest moments. Where he loses his way and calmly accepts his fate, she desperately searches for another way. She never loses her belief, never wavers. She is the greatest hope he can ask for. He can't imagine from what depths she plucks it from. If he could explain to her that she grounds him even in his most lost, perhaps Dorothy could see herself as he sees her.

She even places her hope in complete strangers. Dorothy doesn't let people break through her carefully contrasted persona easily. But when she trusts, she trusts foolishly and wholeheartedly. Where Lucas advises suspicion, Dorothy offers blind trust. She distrusts not as a default, the way Lucas must have been taught to, but as a failsafe. He knows she has been lied to, has even watched it happen, but despite the sting of betrayal, she continues to give strangers the benefit of the doubt. Lucas cannot fathom how this can be, but he vows to never take it for granted.

If she were "not complicated" as she believed, then how could Lucas have such an impossible time figuring her out? She is made up of direct contradictions. Predictable, yet unexpected. Merciless, yet compassionate. Lost, yet determined. Cautious, and careless. Every part of her should cancel out the other, yet they work together in perfect harmony to create the greatest woman Lucas could imagine.


	3. Brown Eyes

_**It isn't until she stops in front of small puddle and admits to her reflection, "I always wished I had blue eyes, instead of...~these~," that he learns why she can't stand to look in any mirror longer than a second. Lucas had always loved brown eyes. He can't imagine them not being someone's favorite.**_

* * *

It isn't until she stops in front of small puddle and admits to her reflection, "I always wished I had blue eyes, instead of... _these_ ," spitting the word like a curse, that he learns why Dorothy can't stand to look in any mirror longer than a second.

Lucas had always loved brown eyes. Okay, well, considering how his concept of "always" only consisted of a little more than a month, that didn't mean much, but he was certain they were his favorite now. He can't imagine them _not_ being someone's favorite.

Pools of liquid amber had been the first thing he'd seen upon opening his own sapphire eyes in this new life, and they'd been everywhere he'd looked ever since. In the bark of the trees that provided shade, and the roots of the ground that provided food. Cocoa brown was present in the wood of the walls that made up people's homes and in the spices that flavored tasty sweets. Brown was the color of life and security.

Brown eyes were on the many faces in Dorothy and his trips, both on the roads and in the cities. So many faces, with freckles and scars and big noses and small, but the ones that stood out to Lucas most were those with brown eyes. Like a moth to a flame, his attention was drawn to those with striking features, and nothing is more outstanding than the contrast between soft skin and bold eyes.

If he could trade his own cobalt eyes for the burnished copper color of brown eyes, he would. How could his pale optics compare to the soulful, bottomless intellect of brown eyes? Blue eyes don't smolder in the sunset like Dorothy's do. His eyes don't caramelize and shine with beams of molten gold from the midday sun the way Dorothy's do. He's fairly sure the flames from the nightly fire don't reflect in his eyes and mix with his inner fire until it is nearly impossible to differentiate the external flames from the internal ones the way they do in Dorothy's.

Lucas could stare into Dorothy's brown eyes for decades and never grow tired of the patterns of gold woven into liquid cinnamon. Could never map the designs in her irises.

Brown eyes were the first thing he remembers seeing upon waking up in this world. They provided him safety when he needed it most, and they remain the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"I love brown eyes," he tells her softly, "they're the color of home." He intertwines his hand in hers and pulls her away from the puddle.

Lucas doesn't understand how Dorothy could dislike her eyes, but he's happy to verbalize his love for them until she starts to believe him.


	4. Broken Bottles

No matter how much Dorothy and he have earned it after a long day, Dorothy always turns down his offer for a drink.

Lucas respects her decision, but cannot understand it himself. He isn't certain if his body is trained to crave the alcohol from his past days as a soldier, or if it comes from an even earlier time- can't remember which, to be honest. But it never fails to soothe him when he needs it most. The tingle it gives his tongue, the burn in the back of his throat, and the warmth of the beer as it settles in his chest relaxes him like nothing else.

He wishes he could share that feeling with Dorothy.

"No. I…I'm good, thanks though," she will politely decline when he offers her a mug. He always hears her voice crack when she says it, the way she sounds disconnected, like she's lost in another time.

It isn't until many bar trips later, and with the help of a rude stranger, that Lucas finally gathers a clearer understanding of Dorothy's fear.

They'd been there for hours—at the bar. Lucas finding solace in his mug and listening to the burly men two tables down regale each other with heroic tales. He didn't want to join in; he was more than content to just listen and watch Dorothy pet Toto across the table from him.

Usually, she would pitch in and comment on the stories they overhear, deadpanning clever statements until she had Lucas doubling over with laughter.

Tonight, though, she said nothing as she solemnly stroked the fur on Toto's head, staring absently in the direction of the bar, lost in thought.

Lucas narrowed his eyes at the man sitting at the counter. He was the reason his drinking partner was so downtrodden, Lucas would bet his sword on it.

The man may have been attractive, in another lifetime. His black hair was thick and full and his posture emanated authority. But his luscious hair was nothing but a greasy tangle now, and his erect stance served only to further present his paunch. Where a proud and respectable man once stood, a drunk is all that is left behind.

He watched Pot Belly chug a new mug of beer. Bubbly drips of alcohol and spittle escaped from the corners of the man's greasy lips.

Lucas crinkled his own lips in disgust, only to tighten them into a thin line the longer he thought about it.

Dorothy had been aware of this man from the moment he stepped foot in the bar. Lucas had watched her shoulders tense up as soon as the man walked in, and she only became further on edge as the drunkard became unrulier with every mugful.

Lucas' eyes widened when he realized what the man was about to do.

He stood quickly; to do what-he didn't know, and the sudden movement jolted Dorothy out of her absent-mindedness. She followed his eyeline back to the man at the bar and she was moving across the room in front of Lucas before he even had time to put an arm out to stop her.

His fearless Dorothy, always rushing into trouble.

In the end, they were both too slow. The thick glass of beer had already been thrown at the bartender's head before they could reach the irate drunk. Lucas tracked the glass as it sailed harmlessly over the bartender's head as the short man ducked, and the thick mug shattered harmlessly against the wooden wall behind.

The sound of glass ricocheted around the bar and left silence in its wake. Broken shards skidded across the floor, but Lucas managed to keep his footing as he crossed the room, skirting past a frozen Dorothy and grabbing the offending man's arm. He slammed the fool against the counter and immobilized him by holding both arms behind his back. Lucas ignored the man's violent swearing and turned to check on Dorothy.

Lucas' heart dropped.

She stood frozen mid-step, exactly in the same place as she was when he had brushed past her. Her head was tilted down towards a piece of glass that had scraped to a stop a mere inch from the toe of her shoe.

Lucas had never seen this look on her face before. Eyes wide, eyebrows crumpled, mouth ever-so-slightly opened just enough to allow for the quick, hyperventilating breaths to escape.

This was not a look he associated with his Dorothy. This was the look of someone… _afraid._

Lucas took a moment to wrestle the man who caused all this trouble out the front door of the bar, taking no care to be gentle when throwing him to the dirt. He slammed the door shut and rushed back to Dorothy, ignoring the stares of the other bar patrons.

She was exactly as he'd left her: completely wrecked.

Blame the alcohol, or maybe just the adrenaline in his system, but Lucas dared to reach up and cup Dorothy's face with his hands.

"Dorothy," he grumbled out when her expression didn't change. He swiped his thumb over her still cheek. "What's wrong, Dorothy?"

He pushed a few strands of hair out of her face and slowly, _agonizingly_ slowly, her eyes drifted up to meet his.

The scarecrow forced a small smile onto his face, "Hey there."

She said nothing, just sucked in a stuttering breath and shut her suspiciously wet eyelids.

Lucas watched the first tear streak down her face.

And then a second. Then a third.

Lucas took control of the situation and adjusted himself so that his back was to the rest of the bar, and Dorothy was hidden from anyone's view. He knew she would hate anyone to see her like this.

And then, he simply held her in his arms.

The noise from the bar started up again, unsteady at first and then roaring back into life.

Steadily, the man holding his past, present, and future in his hands, and the woman being cradled by her unfaltering guardian, faded into the background.

When they left five minutes later, no one gave them a second glance.

As soon as they were out the door, Dorothy turned away from him and set off in the opposite direction.

"What-Dorothy! _Dorothy!_ " Lucas reached out and grabbed her arm to stop her.

The reaction was instantaneous. Dorothy _launched_ herself at the ground and clenched her hands to her sides.

"I didn't! I didn't _mean_ it!" she gasped breathlessly.

Lucas stood dumfounded, his arm still stretched out in the air between them.

Dorothy continued to shake and plead to an unknown entity. "Please! I'll be quiet. _I'll be quiet._ Please-" her eyes were shut tight, only Dorothy herself knew what she was seeing right now- "Just no more bottles. _No more bottles, Dad. Please._ Dad, please _!"_

Lucas was… he wasn't sure what he was. 'Surprised' didn't seem to cover it. Maybe 'horrified' was closer to what he was looking for.

He followed the line of Dorothy's trembling arms to where her fists were now tucked up against her chest, protecting her body from whatever it was she feared.

Yes, 'horrified' seemed most accurate.

Lucas carefully lowered himself next to Dorothy and reached out a hand towards her. He ignored her initial full-body flinch as his fingertips reached her and pulled her into his lap. He began to stroke her hair.

They sat there for a while; Lucas soothingly running his fingertips through her hair, and Dorothy fighting her leftover shivers. Toto watched them from just outside the doorway to the Bar.

Lucas knew Dorothy was back in the present with him when she shoved him away from her without warning and stumbled to her feet. She stood above him and glared menacingly. Although the effect was diminished slightly by the arms wrapped tightly around her torso.

Lucas simply gazed up at her from his crisscrossed position on the ground.

After a few minutes of their silent stare-off, Dorothy huffed a sigh and sat back down in front of Lucas.

If the situation were less intense, Lucas would have smiled. Dorothy was as stubborn as they came; Lucas had yet to meet a single person in Oz more determined than his spitfire. But in the end, her stubbornness was never a match for Lucas' sincere, steadfast concern. He never asked more than she was willing to give, but he was leagues more patient than Dorothy, and the waiting game always ended in his favor.

"That man," Dorothy finally admitted, "he looks just like my dad."

Lucas only noded solemnly, hoping his silence would prompt her to continue. She did.

"Sometimes he would come home drunk." She twitched one side of her lip up in a mockery of a smirk and scoffed. "I shouldn't say that. I'm not sure there was ever a time when he _wasn't_ drunk." Dorothy dropped her gaze to Lucas' feet for a moment. When she looked back up at him, he could see the steely determination in them.

That's the Dorothy he knew.

Lucas settled himself more comfortably in the dirt, and Dorothy began telling him everything about her father.

Sitting on the cold ground, ten and a half feet from the entrance to a noisy bar, Dorothy told him about the nights her dad would invite his friends over and drink himself blind. She told him about how he would chuck bottles at her when she made any noise. How, on a few special nights, he would get bored and scrape up some of the broken bottle shards and call her over in front of him, where he would proceed to place the shards in her palms and close her fingers into fists and cover them with his own thick hands, and tell her not to say a thing, not one single sound.

Lucas' eyes flickered down to where Dorothy's wrists were pressed against her middle. She wasn't protecting her chest like he'd thought, she was protecting her _hands_. Because they'd been scarred time and time again by her dad. With broken bottles. The same kind of bottle Lucas drank his beer out of every week. The same kind of bottle he sat in front of her with, completely and unknowingly gesturing around with, _three feet away from her_ with, every week.

God, he was a fool.

"Dorothy, I had no idea."

Dorothy pulled a face at him. "Of course, you didn't. How could you? I don't blame you for any of it, you weren't even there, Lucas."

He shut his eyes tight, not even worthy of looking at her, and pleaded.

"Dorothy, I'm not talking about your past. I was not there to protect you from your vermin father, and I will regret that for the rest of my life. But, worse, I have brought you to bar after bar and drunk cup after cup in front of you, and I didn't know what I was doing to you Dorothy, you have to believe me." He opened his eyes to meet hers head on. "Please, Dorothy, please understand."

Dorothy sat stunned on the dirt ground. Carefully, she removed her hands from where they were plastered to her body and slid her fingers into his, so that his palm cradled her knuckles.

"You're not him. I would never be afraid of you."

Lucas' hands were large enough that his palms engulfed hers, but they were nothing but gentle as he wrapped his fingers in hers and pulled them both up to their feet.

"And I will never give you a reason to be."


End file.
